The BookBeaver's Self Claimed Unknown Old Enemy
by Hannahzzz
Summary: Hermione Granger ruinerd my life. Rated T for language. One-Shot


**A/N**

**Pardon my French...**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, If I did, I would also own Pottermore and I would not be refreshing my hotmail, ****waiting for that acceptance letter...**

"Fuck you!" I screamed and ran out of the classroom. That stupid cunt! How dare she say that I am expelled? I will show that wanking headmaster. I am Cecilia Logan, queen bee at that school. How could she be so unfair? I only slapped Georgia because the cunt rolled her eyes at me. She should have known better! This is sooo not my fault. Stupid fucking Georgia who can't keep her teeth in her chavvy mouth (Who can't keep her teeth in her mouth? Aldri hørt det uttrykket før. Mente du at hun hadde sagt noe stygt til Cecilia?). My life is over! I can't believe that I was expelled in my 7th year! Now I'll have to redo my a-levels. Fuck Georgia and her Oxford scholarship! Everyone will talk about this for ages! "Cecilia was expelled for slapping Georgia; it was probably because she was jealous of Georgia's good grades." As if! I will never sink to her nerd-level. But that stupid rumour will spread faster than shite, just like last time...

I hate Hermione Granger, the beaver, the bookworm, the teacher's pet.

For six years she'd been outshining me, stealing my glory, that stupid little cunt. The day she left for her nerd-herd school, was the best fucking day of my life so far. I know I might have been a bit mean, teasing her for her buckteeth, braces, bushy hair and nose-in-book tendencies. But she had it coming for her, answering all questions, getting into that smart-arse-school. I had to go to the local secondary school. Fucking Hermione and her fucking good grades that messed up MY life. I bloody HATE her! It is all her fault.

The last time I saw Hermione was 1991, before the summer holidays. It is now 1997, in the middle of May, that I see her for the first time since then. She has grown up, her hair is half as bushy as it used to be and she probably has normal teeth now, six years with braces must have fixed them. She is running down the road towards her house, crying.

In all the years I teased her, I have never seen her cry.

I think of myself as a good person, because I have never made people cry.

Curious as to why she is here, I turn off my Walkman and follow her. I was 3 houses away when I heard a loud cracking noise and two boys running at full pelt after Hermione, shouting at her.

"Hermione!" the tallest boy shouted. He had ginger hair and a lot of freckles. When he caught up with Hermione, he put his arms around her waist and dragged her away from the house. The other boy had jet black tousled hair and oversized John Lennon glasses. Hermione struggled against the ginger man, trying to get something out of her pocket, while John Lennon Jr. shouted; "No Hermione, there's someone here." He nodded towards me

"I don't care!" Hermione shouted back, she stopped struggling to get to her pocket, but still resisted Ginger's hold.

"Let's go back to the Burrow, it's not safe here." Ginger said. Hermione broke down and started crying into his chest and the boys exchanged worried expressions before patting her awkwardly on her shoulders. I took the time to look more closely at them. They all looked worse for wear, like the time my dad took me camping for two weeks and it took almost a month to get the shine back into my hair. They also looked starved. Maybe they were all anorexic? Maybe that was what the "special" school was for; Mentally ill kids? HAH! Hermione wasn't sent to a school for bright kids, but a lunatic dump! My life is waaay

They were also wearing long black coats, more like capes or cloaks, like some circus people or something.

John Lennon Jr. walked up the stairs to the Granger's house and opened the door carefully, as if the bogeyman would attack him or something. "Be careful Harry," Ginger cautioned, before he turned to drag Hermione to the dark alley they came from. John Lennon jr, Harry, nodded before he walked inside.

Ginger hurried past me, still dragging a crying Hermione with him. He ignored me. I don't like being ignored.

"Oi! Book-beaver!" I shouted Hermione's old nickname after them, hoping it would catch her attention. It did. Hermione froze and turned towards me with an expression so fiery, so scary, that I started to get freaked out. I took a step back, before realising that I was showing fear and putting on my usual confident expression. "What happened to make you decide to show your ugly face up here again?" I stepped toward them and crossed my arms over my chest.

"Did the madhouse chuck you out?"

Hermione narrowed her narrowed eyes at me and gripped Ginger's arm, as he growled and made to move towards me. "She's not worth it Ronald." Hermione choked out. I laughed a humour less laugh, trying to seem mildly entertained. On the inside I was fuming. Of course I was worth it. I was worth 12 of Hermione. "Ronald, really? Your name is Ronald. Does your dad really like McDonalds or something? Or is it your mum who's fat?" I flipped my beautiful, straight, waist length hair, so that is sparkled in the spring sun, and laughed. I have a beautiful laughter, like bells, my friend says. I knew dragging Hermione's boyfriends mum was going a bit too far, but it felt good to let off some of my frustration on them. Ronald McDonald broke free of Hermione's grasp and dragged a stick out of his pocket and pointed it menacingly at me. I laughed again.

"A stick, really? Oh gosh I'm pissing my pants! Where did you find this fella' Hermione, at that 'special' school of yours? I've never met anyone this stupid befo-" there was a loud bang and a flash of red light and I knew no more.

When I regained consciousness, I was lying on my back, in my own bed, staring at my 'N sync poster. My head hurt and when I looked in the mirror on my night stand, I saw a bruise blossoming on my forehead. I could barely remember anything that had happened the last few hours. But one thing was clear, Hermione "Book-Beaver" Granger, had drawn a stick from her black coat, aimed it at me and light had erupted from it, hitting my stomach. Looking back, I could have sworn it to be magic, but I am not a freak. I am pretty, popular and I refuse to be sent to a nut house. Rehab was bad enough.

**A/N**

**so...**

**this was just a little drabble that I was thinking of (in my head) ****(**_**Oh, I thought you thought of it in your ankle – love your beta)**_**while doing an essay (months ago) and I wrote this (yes, in English) instead of a Norwegian article on tractors...**

**The "I" person (protagonist) here is my horrible OC, Cecilia, who is based on Cecilie, ( I know my imagination is just stunning!) the character I played in Nasjonal Prøve (a theatre play thing). Cecilie, like Cecilia, is a self-centred bitch who bullies others to feel better about herself. I enjoyed playing Cecilie, because she is almost my complete opposite, I also enjoyed writing Cecilia, for the same reason. I also liked using swearwords. I take pleasure in writing things I am not allowed to say (in school, without getting detention) in my everyday life.**


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